


Never Let Me Go

by BeesKnees



Category: Firefly
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inara brings Simon back to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Me Go

Their return to high society is short-lived. 

Simon and Inara get picked for this mission, because, in the end, everyone in the crew realizes that they were the only two who can pass through a high-class crowd without being noticed. They don’t need to dress up, put on any sort of mask, because this is who they will always be. And they look gallant next to each other, paired like two jewels.

The small talk is easy, the smiling, the dancing — it all goes without a hitch. It’s only when Simon takes a drink of something that is offered to him covertly in the corner of the room that he remembers that high society also came with these caveats: They always had the strongest, the best, the newest designer drugs. And while Simon may have dabbled in this and that when he was a medical student, it’s nothing compared to whatever he’s been given, and he’s gone within seconds.  
When he comes back to himself, he’s floating somewhere high above, and he’s inside Inara’s shuttle, hidden behind the typically closed entranceway, slipped into her bed, curtains drawn tightly shut. 

The small space is crowded with smoke, and he can’t tell if it’s all in his mind, or if she’s burning something, but the heat is overwhelming, the smell woody. He’s already down to just his pants, his shirt and vest and shoes lost somewhere along the way — dizzily, he tries to peer over the edge of the bed to see if they are scattered somewhere along the floor, but before he can move too much, Inara comes back into the line of his sight.

The lighting in her shuttle is dim, and she seems to be composed of more shadow than light. She kneels beside him, still wearing the elegant dress she’d brought out for their night. It’s all dark green, gold edges, no back. She presses a cold towel against his forehead, and Simon feels as if he’s burning up. He closes his eyes for a second. Sweat beads along his skin, and he reaches for her, one of his hands inadvertently running along her thigh, the fabric gathering there.

He hears her say his name, but he’s gone, carried away by heat and sensation.

The slide of her neat sheets against his skin is too much to bear, and he can only groan quietly — the sound only swallowed when the neat red bow of Inara’s lips presses gently against his. It’s almost done in pity, an action intended, perhaps, to calm or quiet him. And for a moment, it is enough. He presses up into the kiss, and it’s surprisingly chaste, just mouth against mouth. 

Simon’s hand pushes further up Inara’s thigh, finds the supple dip of her waist. He grounds himself there, and though his skin seems to burn still, he feels anchored for the time. 

She lifts one hand and presses it lightly against against his temple, cupping his face. Her hair falls down around her shoulders when she leans in, and some of it brushes over Simon’s skin. Inara slides her hand along his chest, teasing at his fevered flesh, fingers simple in their motions. She doesn’t pause even when she reaches the waistband of his pants, just lets her hand slip underneath, wrapping carefully around his already his thickened cock. His hips tense upward, and some part of him knows he’d be flushed right now if he were in anything of his right mind. As it is, all he can do is sink back against the mound of pillows behind him, watching Inara all the way. 

A fluttering kiss to his neck, her long hair along his chest, and Inara begins to stroke him in a slow, sure way. Her grip is tight, but still easy, and the angle’s just a little off because her hand is shoved underneath his pants. 

“You’re okay, Simon,” she murmurs softly, and he can feel the ticklish brush of her lips the entire time she speaks. 

She slips her hand out from underneath his pants only to undo the buttons (too many buttons, Simon thinks; it’s absolutely ridiculous.) He lifts his hips obligingly to help her, and then he’s freed, naked from head to toe in her bed. He reaches for her, but she smiles simply and pulls away even further, lowers her mouth slowly to where his cock is dipped up toward his stomach. 

He groans the moment she wraps her lips around him — and he can’t even remember the last time he’s been with anyone, his memories cast astray in the sea of his mind, floating past his self-imposed isolation, his need to save River.

Her thumbs are soft against his hips, running and down along the juts of them, almost as if guiding him. He moves carefully up against her, one of his hands twining in the soft expanse of her hair. 

He’s too loud the entire time, groaning, and biting at his lip. His free hand wanders across the open plane of her back as if it’s lost, tracing her shoulder blades and occasionally digging his fingertips in too roughly. She moves calmly the entire time, bobbing her head up and down, tongue playing along the underside of his shaft. She watches him through dark, shadowed eyes. 

He begins to thrust too quickly, moving himself up against the tight ring of her mouth. His breathing stutters and he comes with little warning, spilling himself down her throat. He should abashed, but he’s too boneless, practically half asleep now. 

She moves beside him, pulling along the side of the bed. He reaches for her, and ends up wrapping his arms around her waist. She kisses him softly on the forehead, and he falls asleep, his head pressed to her shoulder.


End file.
